


Destiny is Calling Me

by idioticfangirl



Series: Fantober 2020 (The Cherry Pie Series) [1]
Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Cooking, First Dates, Fluff, Halloween, Light Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:06:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26761831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idioticfangirl/pseuds/idioticfangirl
Summary: In a world where soulmates gain each other's talents, all Nick wants to do is be able to cook a good meal for Monroe.  But every time he tries, it ends up burnt, or covered in spice, or on the floor.AKA, five times Nick cooked something inedible for Monroe and one time he didn't.For Day 1 of Fantober - The First Day of Fall!
Relationships: Nick Burkhardt/Monroe
Series: Fantober 2020 (The Cherry Pie Series) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1950112
Comments: 6
Kudos: 71





	Destiny is Calling Me

1 - First Date

“Don’t do it, Nick,” Hank warned as they returned to the precinct. “Don’t you remember what happened when you tried to cook for our football night?”

Nick winced, fighting not to remember the firefighters jeering as they hosed down his house far more than he thought was necessary. “But I want to impress him!”

“You’re already a Grimm,” Hank pointed out, “shouldn’t that be impressive enough?”

“I want to impress him in a way that doesn’t make him run for the hills.”

“If he hasn’t run yet, why would he now?”

Nick rolled his eyes, grabbing his coat and phone. “That’s not the point, Hank. We can’t go out in case another Wesen sees us, so I want to at least make a home date good. It’s the first date!”

“Don’t come crying to me when your house burns down.”

  
Now, two hours later and completely covered in flour, Nick reflected on Hank’s words with something fast approaching regret. Monroe would be here in - he checked his watch, rubbing at it in a way that only spread the flour further, rather than removing it - not long, and he was a mess. He surveyed his kitchen, and decided that he would have to steer Monroe firmly into the living room and make sure that he got drinks for the both of them the whole night. He ran a worried hand through his hair, cursing when he realised, slightly too late, that there were now white streaks in it, and turned for the shower, hoping that the food would survive.

As he descended the stairs to a shrieking fire alarm and some increasingly frantic knocks, he knew that the food hadn’t survived. He flung the door open, knowing that the food wasn’t salvageable but his dignity still might be, and grinned at Monroe, angling his body to block the open doorway into his kitchen.

“Hi, Nick,” Monroe looked almost as anxious as he felt, and something in that let Nick calm down. “Uh, is that smoke?”

Spinning, Nick saw black smoke beginning to billow out of the oven, and he dashed for it, gesturing wildly at the door to the living room as he did so. Ignoring this, Monroe followed him, opening a window and waving the door as Nick dived for what could once have been considered food, but was now charcoal.

“Sorry, sorry, I must have had the oven on too high, I’m really sorry,” Nick babbled, glancing wildly between the coal and Monroe. 

Monroe shrugged, looking a little more relaxed now, and Nick was bitterly glad that his failure could set Monroe at ease. “It happens, man.” He peered at the food, perhaps trying to guess what it would have been, and Nick waited for the ground to swallow him up.

A knock at the door interrupted his scheduled wallow in self-pity, and Nick sighed, wondering if the firemen had come already. Instead, peering into the open door with an expression of bored curiosity, was a man carrying three pizza boxes.

“Did you -” Nick asked Monroe, wondering if he had some pizza contact that could get him cooked pizzas in ten seconds, but Monroe looked as confused as him, so he shrugged at the pizza man. “Wrong house, I think.” A part of him that wasn’t a police officer and was therefore more calm with stealing pizzas said that he should just take them, but was drowned out. 

“Got a note here,” the man drawled, “for Nick, from Hank, saying ‘I think you’ll need this’. You Nick?”

“I am,” Nick smiled, feeling the promise of the evening beginning to return to him, “How much?”

“Already paid for,” the man shrugged, dropping the pizzas into Nick’s grateful arms.

“Hank saw this coming, then.” Monroe asked lightly around a slice of pizza.

“I might not be a very good cook,” Nick admitted sheepishly, “but I still wanted to try!” Now that he thought about it, it definitely seemed stupid, but Monroe looked oddly touched.

“I can teach you! I love cooking.”

“Sounds good,” Nick reached for another slice of pizza, making a mental note to buy Hank as many beers as he could ever wish for.

  
2 - With Monroe

A few dates later, Monroe gently brought up the idea of cooking together. Having begun to get over the pain of their first date, Nick agreed with only a little resistance, and found himself in Monroe’s homely kitchen, wearing an apron that said “hot stuff” and holding a spatula like it would bite him. 

“Don’t look so scared!” Monroe laughed, seeming completely at home as he peeled the potatoes. “It’ll be easier with someone there that knows what’s going on.”

At first, Nick had thought that might be true, but, when the proximity to Monroe made his hands shake and every slight, brushing touch made his heart-rate pick up until he felt like he had run a marathon, it seemed increasingly unlikely. He had already been shepherded away from any tasks that involved a sharp utensil, something that he found vaguely insulting as someone that was qualified to carry a gun, and hovered uncomfortably, flinching back at every spit of the boiling water.

When Monroe set him the one, small task of adding his preferred amount of spices to the dish, Nick set his shoulders straight, convinced that he could do it.

But then Monroe placed his hand on the small of Nick’s back, leaning round him to supervise, and Nick started, dropping the lid of the chilli powder and dumping half of the contents into the bowl.

“Uh.” He sighed, staring out of the window so that Monroe didn’t have to see his flaming face. “That’s not quite -”

“We’ll make do,” Monroe shrugged, pouring water into the bowl, “I’ve made my fair share of mistakes in the kitchen, I’ll tell you that. This one time, I was cooking for my grandfather, and -” Nick lost himself in the story and the hypnotic, easy movements of Monroe as he attempted to fix the dinner into something that wouldn’t burn their tongues, grateful that Monroe hadn’t even once considered blaming him. 

“Well,” Monroe coughed, eyes watering as he downed half a glass of water in one go, “at least it was edible this time.”

3 - First ‘I Love You’

Nick squinted at the hand-written recipe on the fridge, trying and failing to decipher the cursive. He had given himself more time than on the first date, knowing it would be at least five hours before Monroe returned from his disastrous family dinner. He had received updates the whole time, right up until they had found out that Nick was a Grimm and Monroe had left quickly.

Nick wished, with a sudden jolt, that he wasn’t a Grimm. Then Monroe’s parents wouldn’t have said whatever it was that had got Monroe to leave a day before he had planned, and Monroe’s friends wouldn’t shun him, and Nick wouldn’t scare him half to death by turning up covered in blood every other day. It was made almost worse by the fact that Monroe wouldn’t tell Nick what people said to him, like Nick was important enough to ruin his relationships but not important enough to actually know how. He knew, in a corner of his mind that wasn’t filled with anger and self-hatred, that Monroe was just trying to protect him, but it didn’t help how he felt.

But making Monroe’s favourite meal, from the recipe that he kept laminated on his fridge? That would help. It was a recipe, as long as he followed it to the letter and didn’t leave the oven for even a second, what could go wrong?

That was, of course, assuming that he was right about it being 3 tsp of salt, and not 3 tbsp. Or even 1 tsp, now that he looked from a different angle. The paper, though laminated, was smudged with grease, and half of the words seemed to be written in a hybrid of German and English that even Google Translate could only take a stab at. Nick knew that this wouldn’t work, knew that he would end up providing Monroe with a microwave meal (that he had already bought, because there was no such thing as too prepared) and maybe a few funny stories that would make him smile, but he had to try it anyway. Sitting around doing nothing was riling him up to the point where he wanted to punch something, and Monroe would probably appreciate a dinner more than split knuckles, so that was what he was going to do.

On the bright side, by the time he heard a car pulling into the drive Nick had managed to tidy the kitchen, and there was only a lingering smell of burning onions. The microwave meal wouldn’t take long to cook, and Nick toyed with the idea of presenting it properly to at least make it look like he had succeeded, but turned the thought down when he realised it meant Monroe would expect him to be able to do it again, so he swallowed his pride.

“Hey, Nick.” Monroe smiled slightly, but it didn’t reach his eyes, and Nick ached for him even as his anger at the world flared again. 

“I,” he stared at Monroe, picking his words carefully. The way Monroe was standing there, not even completely through the doorway, gazing sadly into the distance, sparked something in his heart that Nick had resolutely not wanted to think before. “I tried to make you dinner,” he forced out around the words that he really wanted to say.

“Tried?” Maybe Monroe meant for it to sound light, but it fell flat and Nick wished he could at least have done this right.

“I’m sorry.” He wasn’t sure if he was sorry for the way that Monroe was being treated, for being unable to cook, for being a Grimm, for not being able to fix it. For all of it, maybe. Anything that would make Monroe look at him, make him stay with him. Make him not leave. There was a beeping, and he bit his lip. “I made a microwave meal.”

“Not hungry,” Monroe shrugged, and Nick’s heart sank. He turned anyway, mechanically opening the microwave and getting the plate out, ignoring that it was hot. It smelt nice, sweet and - Nick’s eyes widened as he remembered the cherry pie, and he rushed to the oven. The pie actually looked - almost good, a bit black around the edges but definitely edible, not leaking or burnt to a crisp or exploded somehow. Thrilled enough to forget everything else, he jumped up to show Monroe, but when he saw him still standing in the hall, not even bothering to take his shoes off, his triumph turned to ash in his mouth, and he turned the oven off, reaching in.

“Oven gloves,” Monroe pointed out, the first words unprompted from his mouth since he had come, and Nick started. Monroe had moved closer, and was holding out the gloves, blue ones that Nick had bought for his recent birthday. Nick took them with a nod and pulled out the pie.

“It looks edible,” Monroe announced, and Nick felt any sense of self-control slipping away.

“Are you going to leave me?”

“What?” Finally Monroe’s voice had emotion in, even if that was emotion was shocked pain.

“I don’t want you to.” This was all coming out wrong, and Nick prayed for a chance to do it again, to do it better. “I understand if you do but please don’t.”

“I don’t - I’m not - what?”

“I’m sorry I can’t cook.” It felt like that had gone from a funny first date story to impending disaster, and Nick didn’t know if he was standing in the way to avert it or get run over by it. “I want to get better. And I’m sorry I’m a Grimm. I know people say things, I know your parents said things.” He choked over whatever he was going to say next, managing to finish by muttering, “I would change it, if I could. If you stay. I’ll make it better.”

“Nick,” was all that Monroe managed to get out, before he had his arms around him, and Nick wondered how badly he had fucked up if Monroe was comforting him after his awful day. “I don’t mind what they say. I’m only angry at my parents for saying things about you without even meeting you. It doesn’t matter what they think, if they make me choose I’m choosing you. I wasn’t going to leave you. I love you.”

“Oh.” Nick’s shoulders dropped, and he flipped between feeling relieved and stupid. “I love you too.”

“And you’ve managed to make a pie!” Some of the enthusiasm was forced, but Nick detected an undercurrent of genuine pride as Monroe gazed at the pie. He looked at the microwave meal, now congealing slightly on the plate. “Pie for dinner?”

“Sounds perfect.”

4 - Proposing

Nick stared at the kitchen with the same intensity as he stared down attacking Wesen. Today, he decided, he would conquer this beast. Monroe’s fighting had been coming on in leaps and bounds, and Nick was beginning to be able to play the cello, and that meant that they were soulmates, right? And that meant that he would be able to cook. And once he had mastered cooking, and demonstrated to himself that this was right, this was what the universe wanted, no matter how odd - then he could do what he had been ready to do for months. 

At the beginning, it all seemed to be going well. He hadn’t thrown anything onto the floor, there had been no spontaneous fires and he felt confident that this recipe was doable. He even perfected the art of timing everything so that it would all come out of the oven at the same time. 

Then, as happened so often to Nick, a rock smashed straight through the window, aiming for his head. Only his quick reflexes saved him, and it crashed harmlessly into his fridge. Or, harmlessly for Nick, anyway, although the poor fridge had a dent in it. A growl came from outside, and Nick spotted a hulking figure lunging towards the now broken window.

Thinking only of his cooking, Nick ran for the door, determined to take the fight outside and finish it so he could get back to his romantic evening. He ran at the Wesen, and they collided onto the front porch, rolling onto his grass in a mess of teeth and claws and leather jackets.

The Wesen was a Luison, Nick realised as he dodged another attack, and he was grateful for the practice sessions with Monroe. Without them the claw that scraped against his cheek would have sliced his ear off, and the needle teeth that pierced his shoulder would have torn his throat out. The fight was still hard, brutal and tiring, and his attention was forced away from the kitchen and into survival. 

A sharp punch to the base of the spine and the Luison was powerless to stop himself from being knocked out, and Nick breathed a sigh of relief as he called Hank, arranging subtle transport to the precinct.

“Nick!” He turned to see Monroe, who had just pulled up and was running towards him, a panicked look in his eye. “What happened?”

Nick gestured to the Luison being bundled into the back of the police car, still panting heavily, but his sigh turned into a groan as the tell-tale sound of smoke alarms spilled from his house. “Again?”

“You were cooking?” Monroe followed him into the house. “Is that why he attacked you?”

“Very funny.” Nick rolled his eyes, flushing. “It was going well until he throw a rock at me, I’ll have you know.”

“He threw a rock at you?” Monroe’s eyes swept critically over Nick, taking in his injuries. “Are you okay?”

“I ducked.” More preoccupied with trying to salvage the meal, Nick shrugged off Monroe’s concerns. “He barely scratched me, I’ll be fine.”

“Nick,” he recognised the warning in Monroe’s voice and straightened up. “Go sit down. I’ll deal with this.”

“I could have done it,” Nick muttered mutinously once he was safely out of earshot, sitting down on the sofa and wondering if he was destined to never successfully carry out a romantic plan. By the time Monroe came in, carrying a meal that wasn’t at all what Nick was planning but smelled far nicer than he could ever have managed, Nick had changed and was too tired to be angry, and instead ate the food gratefully. 

“Are you okay?” Monroe asked again, and Nick allowed himself to be inspected, wincing when Monroe poked his shoulder. “You’ll live.” He sat back, visibly relaxing, and Nick smiled, taking a deep breath.

“I wanted this to be better,” He announced, standing up, “but I think that this is how it’s going to be for the rest of our lives. And honestly, I wouldn’t change it for the world.” His shaking legs steadied as he got down on one knee, pulling the box with a ring out of the pocket he had put it in. Faintly he heard Monroe gasp, but his mind was set on finishing this without choking up. “As long as it’s with you. So, Monroe, will you do me the honour of becoming my husband?”

When he looked up, there were tears in Monroe’s eyes, and he was nodding emphatically. “Yes.” He whispered, clearing his throat. “Yes, Nick!” The ring fit perfectly, and Nick forgot all about the burnt meal, ruined by a Luison with poor timing.

5 - The Night Before the Wedding

It wasn’t that Nick was getting cold feet, exactly. He knew that he wanted to marry Monroe. He’d known that for a long time. Everything was perfect, and everything was ready for the wedding tomorrow, and Nick still couldn’t cook.

And that was where his problem lay. Monroe loved to cook. He considered it one of his favourite hobbies, and something that he had perfected.

So if Nick couldn’t do it, were they really soulmates? Monroe had gained many of Nick’s talents, true, but how had Nick not got any cooking prowess from Monroe? What if Monroe was his soulmate and he wasn’t Monroe’s - the kind of horror story that spread around high school but surely was never considered by happy, engaged men - and he was destined to watch from the sidelines?

So in one, last, desperate attempt, Nick decided to go off recipe. Monroe could do it, he reasoned, could play it by ear and create a masterpiece, so why couldn’t he? Maybe Monroe’s talent lay in designing meals, not following recipes. Maybe he could do this.

“You know you’re adding cinnamon to the potatoes, right?” Monroe’s voice came from behind his ear, and Nick jumped, pouring a little more of the offending spice before regaining his senses. 

“Don’t sneak up on me!” He complained, choosing to ignore any questions about what he was doing.

“You should always pay attention to your surroundings when cooking. Even if you’re cooking an abomination.”

“Cinnamon potatoes are a thing!” Nick protested, and Monroe sighed.

“Why are they a thing that you’re choosing to cook now? It’s not like you to get adventurous in the kitchen.” He looked about him, frowning. “What recipe are you following? I told you not to trust that site that suggested a cake using mayonnaise.”

“No recipe,” Nick shrugged, aiming for nonchalant and falling short, more into petulance, “I wanted to do it without.”

Monroe stared at him as though he had never seen him before. “Are you having a mental breakdown? Is that what this is? You should take some time off work after the wedding.”

“I’m not,” Nick raised his hands in exasperation, “having a breakdown! I just wanted to be able to cook something well for once in my life! Is that so bad? Is it a crime to want to be at least passable in my soulmate’s talent?”

“Ah,” Monroe replied tactfully, “so that’s what this is about.”

Nick nodded sagely. “Not a breakdown.”

“Not the kind of breakdown I expected,” Monroe corrected him, but it was gentle, as he took Nick’s arm and led him to the sofa. “Nick,” he waited, kneeling in front of him, until Nick looked him in the eye. “How long have we been together?”

“A few years.”

“And do you know how long I’ve been learning to cook?”

Nick bit his cheek, thinking back to the things Monroe had told him about his childhood. “Since you were...ten?”

Monroe nodded. “It takes practice. I still mess up sometimes. And I promise it’s easier if you do it with a recipe.”

“And with you?”

“Always with me. So come on,” he stood up, rubbing his sore thighs, “let’s see how good your cinnamon potatoes taste.”

“Maybe we can make them for the wedding dinner tomorrow.”

Monroe hummed. “If my parents make a scene we can subject them to that.”

“Deal.”

  
+1 - The First Day of Fall

After two years of being married, Nick knew what Monroe liked. He liked tea in the morning and hot chocolate if it was cold. He liked shampoo that smelled like sandalwood - but only on Nick, on himself it was mango and lime. He liked cooking, and playing the cello, and archery. And he loved holidays.

And so, on the first day of fall, Nick decided he would make the day as perfect for Monroe as he could. It started innocuously enough, waking Monroe up with a cup of tea and the promise of ‘a nice day out’. He drove, taking twists and turns down narrow country lanes until they were at a pumpkin farm. 

“What’s this?” Monroe jumped out, looking over at the rows of almost-ripe pumpkins.

“I thought we could choose the pumpkin we’ll be carving this Halloween,” Nick shrugged, grinning when he saw Monroe’s face light up. Monroe immediately dashed off, beginning to discount pumpkins for almost imperceptible blights such as ‘too round’, and Nick could only watch, a sickeningly fond expression on his face.

When they were done with that, Nick took Monroe for a coffee, although he drew the line at joining him in having a pumpkin spice latte. Then they went shopping, and in an incredible show of affection Nick even allowed himself to be talked into a couples costume, with Monroe announcing ominously that he had the perfect one in mind. 

“I’ve got this,” Nick smiled, ushering Monroe into the living room as he walked into the kitchen with a confidence he would never have dreamed of having before Monroe. He knew now the recipe for a casserole almost by heart, and the apple pie that he added as an afterthought was so much easier than he remembered it ever being before.

“I don’t believe it,” Monroe marvelled, watching as Nick carried out the plates, “I think I made you into a good cook! And it only took five years.”

“Careful,” Nick waved a spoon warningly, “I won’t cook for you again.”

“Yes you will.”

“Fine,” Nick relented. “I would. But only those cinnamon potatoes.”

Monroe made a face, digging into the first of many meals that Nick would cook for him.


End file.
